


Fools

by almightygwil (elllie)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Professor Gwilym Lee, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elllie/pseuds/almightygwil
Summary: Your English professor was decidedly not a people person, but he developed a particular soft spot for you.
Relationships: Gwilym Lee/Reader





	Fools

**Author's Note:**

> fools // lauren aquilina

Gwilym Lee was not a friendly person. Not to his students, at least. He was not a man full of what he had called ‘unnecessary fluff.’ No, he was firm, straight to the point, serious. How you had taken such a liking to him was mind-boggling to everyone, including yourself, and whether that affection was returned remained entirely a mystery. That didn’t keep you from sticking around.

You hadn’t meant to make it a habit the first day you went to his office; in fact, you were dreading it. The thought of knocking on the stoic man’s door and listening to the possible beratement that may have awaited you chilled you to your very core. And yet, you knocked anyway.

“Come in.” His deep voice, smooth and dark like whiskey, sent a sharp shiver down your spine as you pushed the door open. He awaited you, wiry glasses perched on his nose as he stared at you anticipatorily, a questioning brow raised. “How can I help you, Y/N?”

You had shifted on your feet, smiling bashfully before you took a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to sound really stupid, but I can’t go home because my roommate is gone for the week and I lost my key and I’m not paying that _stupid_ fee for another, but I have a test in two hours and people in the library are incredibly loud--in the _library_ , of all places--and I have to study and I need a place to do it so can I just sit in the classroom? You don’t even have to check on me, I just need quiet.” Your words strung together as you rambled and once you were finished, you took a heavy breath, lungs struggling for air as you stared at him expectantly.

There was a moment of heavy silence before his lips quirked almost imperceptibly. “You can’t sit in the classroom alone, but if you _really_ need quiet, you are welcome to study here.” You stared at him in shock for a second before he rolled his eyes. “Give me an answer or I’m rescinding the offer.”

“Yes!” You jumped. “Thank you, Professor. You won’t even know I’m here, I promise. Thank you,” you babbled.

“Sit down, Y/N,” he sighed, his eyes returning to the essays on his desk.

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, crossing the room to sit on the loveseat without contest, pulling your bag from your shoulder and searching it for your book. You liked the company, Gwilym liked to have someone laugh at his side comments rather than muttering them to the void, so it had quickly become a habit.

Month after month, Wednesday’s were spent in a comfortable silence as you did your homework; it had taught you that no one _really_ took advantage of his office hours, at least not on Wednesdays. You presumed it was because he was intimidating. Even if you hadn’t known what he was like, his looks alone would have done the trick. Gwilym Lee was embarrassingly attractive, tall and lean with blue eyes so bright you almost feared looking straight into them. He knew it and didn’t have to tell you out loud that he did. You were sure that you didn’t have to tell him that you had noticed. 

It was silent, as per usual, as you suffered through your organic chemistry reading, your notebook open with scratchy notes across the page. One headphone was in ear, but had stopped playing music long before you had noticed, your face screwed in concentration as you tried to read the final pages. The Wednesday before finals week; the last official Wednesday before the holiday break and you were more stressed than you had ever felt before.

Gwilym watched you, something he had never done before, at least that you’d known of. If he were to be completely honest, you would know that he had nothing to grade and no one to see, that he had only stayed because he knew you wouldn’t get any studying done at your apartment (something you had divulged to him). “Do you have any experience in o-chem?” You asked your professor, head lifting to catch his eyes. If you noticed him staring at you, you don’t give him a hint that you do, so he leaned back into his chair.

“I don’t," he admitted. “Why are you even in that class? You’re an English major,” he stated. You just groaned, leaning back into the chair.

“I’m getting my minor in chemistry,” you revealed. The shock that plays in his eyes is the same reaction you always get, albeit much more subdued.

“I’m sorry.” 

You chuckled softly, lips pulled up as you caught sight of his own smile. It was rare to see and you reveled in it until it vanished. One of your legs crossed over the other and you shrugged. “It’s really not so bad.” You gave him a playfully pointed look. “Just a lot of work.”

He hummed but hesitated on asking a follow-up question, lips pursed as he looked at you from over the frame of his glasses. Your eyes stayed connected as you waited for him to reply, your fingertips running lightly over the pages of your textbook. Finally, after a pregnant pause, he interlaced his fingers and asked, “What are you planning on doing after you graduate?”

The dreaded question made your insides curdle, as was usual, but you played it off, shrugging indifferently.

He looked at you with more emotion than you’d ever seen from him, disappointment turned his lips down, and worry washed his eyes. “Y/N, this is not a shrugging matter,” he chided.

“And yet.” You shrugged again, ignoring the scrutiny of his gaze. You groaned, dropping your head against the back of your chair. It was a question you hated, because it was the only question you didn’t have an answer to. “I don’t know. There aren’t many things you can do with an English degree, you know.”

He inspected you, your annoyance clear. “I have an English degree,” he defended. Your head raised only enough to meet his eyes. “In fact, I have a PhD in English. It’s not useless, you know,” your head lifted again.

“Professor Lee, if there’s anything you taught me, it’s that teaching university turns you into a jaded and cynical person,” you muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

To your shock, your professor threw his head back and laughed. A loud, boisterous, genuine laugh and you were so shocked that you laughed, too. Your questioning eyes followed him as his laugh fell into a chuckle and he shook his head. “I am _delighted_ to hear that you think so highly of me,” he hummed facetiously, ignoring your rolling eyes. “I am serious, though. You’re nearly a senior, Y/N. You need to start thinking about this.”

“Jesus Christ, you sound like my mother.” You rubbed your temples, staring directly into his displeased eyes.

“Y/N…” he sighed, leaning back into his chair.

“Can we not talk about this?” You pleaded, hands clasped in front of your chest. Gwilym sighed in resignation, turning his attention back to his computer screen. You sighed in relief, grateful to have his attention off you if only for a moment and your gaze turned back to your chemistry book.

Gwilym found himself shocked by you. Never had he met a student who so casually taunted him. He smiled smally again at the jab you had taken as he skimmed his emails, his face quickly falling again as he saw your head lift, unwilling to let you see him in that way. Gwilym was ready for winter break—it meant time away from you and as he listened to you hum in contentment, he knew he needed it. Your presence had softened him a bit, in ways he didn’t like. He’d excuse mistakes in your essays that he’d mark in someone else’s, or run his eyes over you during lecture far too many times (thankfully for him, you were nearly always taking notes, never noticing the attention he gave you) and watched you fondly as you sat in his office. It had all become too much, the affection building in him for you. 

And you sat, oblivious as ever whilst you twisted in your seat to throw a leg over the cushioned arm, using your legs as a surface to brace your notebook. Truly, honestly, deeply, Gwilym was fucked.

Over break, he crosses your mind a few times. Of course, never at a convenient time, when you could send him a friendly email wishing him a happy holiday. No, always during dinner, or during a movie your aunt dragged you to, or when you’re lying in bed at night. It certainly wouldn’t be appropriate to send him an email after midnight; especially not after you had come to the thought of him.

He thought of you too, though much less salaciously. On Wednesday, the day you would usually spend in his office, he watched movies on his couch with his family and silently wondered if you would like the movies or if you were thinking of him too. It took you over a month to get back into your routine and you’re nearly three weeks into the semester before you get to Gwilym’s office. Silently, as though you hadn’t been gone a minute, you slipped in his door and he continued his work without a second glance. You let out a breath of relief. This was how it was meant to be.

To say you had bored yourself over the month you’d not seen him would have been a vast understatement. Not that Gwilym was a great source of entertainment. However, sitting with Gwilym left you recharged in a way you had never felt. He challenged you, made you laugh with his snarky comments on essays, made you feel like you. 

You were knocked from your reverie when he cleared his throat, looking expectantly your way as you swung your head toward him. 

“You’ve been sitting there for nearly five minutes and have yet to do anything,” he said pointedly. You shook your head as though to clear your thoughts, reaching for your bag.

“Sorry,” you hummed distractedly. It was a far cry from your usual snarky retaliation. 

Worry painted his face tightly. He pushed himself from behind the desk and stood, moving toward you. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

Were you? You thought so. The holiday had sent you reeling; weeks without Gwilym affected you in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You never had gotten around to sending him an email, only daydreaming about how he might respond. You had always found him attractive, something you were sure he knew, but you had never felt this pull to him until you were apart.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine. Just struggling to get back into my routine, is all,” you huffed softly as you successfully pulled your notebook from your bag, looking up to him with a reassuring smile.

He pursed his lips, flashing you a look of disbelief that you pretended not to notice. In a decision Gwilym was sure he would come to regret, he grabbed the stack of essays off his desk and the pen beside them before he made himself comfortable in the armchair opposite yours. You looked at him in surprise but he didn’t spare you a glance, only resuming annotating the pages as you stared at him. 

“Y/N, you’ve now been here ten minutes and none of those have been spent doing work,” he reprimanded, peeking at you through his peripheral. He caught the small smile and the shaking of your head and continued to work.

The crossing of the invisible boundary of his desk had meant to be a one-time thing; a comforting presence in your dazed state. However, when you got to his office the next week—almost back to normal and definitely looking the part—with one glance at you, he was on his feet, grabbing his papers and pen and his coffee, displacing himself as you made yourself comfortable on your chair. You hid your smile and worked silently, the same as always, only snickering when he would breathe out an insult about the paper.

“Truly, Y/N, you never should have left my class.”

You looked at him in shock before chuckling. “I finished the class. What was I supposed to do, stay there?”

He shrugged jokingly and you smiled fondly as he played out his bit, your heart tightening as he dropped his guard for a moment. “You could have. You’ll have to be my TA next year; you may be the only student in this school with more than five brain cells,” he sighed heavily, crossing out a few words in his essay as he gave you a fleeting glance. “I mean, truly. At least you knew how to write an essay that didn’t make me physically ill.”

He coughed as though to prove a point and you giggled, holding your notebook to your chest. “If that’s your way of asking me if I’ll TA for you, the answer is yes.” 

He smiled and shook his head, writing a note on the paper. “You should come sit in on my next lecture. Freshman English—all you’ll have to do is sit there.” 

You watched him with suspicious eyes, wondering exactly what he was playing at, but his head lifted and he looked at you innocently. “Okay.”

While you weren’t _technically_ a teacher’s assistant, you practically did the job. Handed back papers, made copies, picked up coffee from the small pot he’d kept hidden in his office. Small things to make his life easier, you’d teased. And you enjoyed watching the freshman. Enjoyed feeling like the big kid in the room. Enjoyed watching Gwilym teach. 

Enjoyed Gwilym.

Was it wrong? Decidedly so. Sitting in on his lectures made it no easier for you to pretend that your feelings over winter break had never happened (previously, you’d chalked it up to missing who had become practically your only friend) and the two of you grew closer, only ruining your chances of getting over it (it? Him? The crush? You still didn’t know) even further.

While Wednesday’s were spent in the office, quiet and wordless and full of work, Tuesday’s and Thursday’s were your days in his classroom, where he’d allow his freshman class to watch the two of you joke around.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed your name. 

You ignored the snickering of the freshman, whether it be over his sudden enthusiasm or the jump you made when he called your name, you weren’t sure. “Professor Lee,” you responded coolly, looking up from your book.

“You did read _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ as a freshman, did you not?” He asked, offering you a pointed look.

You stared at him inquisitively. “I did.”

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked, staring sharply at you. You looked between him and the students, finally figuring out his endgame as you bit back a smile.

“Oh, yeah. It was a blast.” 

A select few students giggled as he laughed sarcastically, raising a brow to you as he rested his hands on his hips, tilting his head in search of a serious answer.

“It was a very moving and interesting novel,” you admitted, his blue eyes boring into yours. You gave him a smile and he gave you one back, satisfied with your answer before turning on his heels to face the class.

“See? Not so bad.”

After class, after all the students have left and you were alone, the only sounds to be heard being his humming and your page turning, you looked at him. “You’re going soft,” you teased. 

He balked at you, sitting up straighter and adjusting his glasses. “I am not going _soft_ ,” he said, as though it were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. You smiled, looking back down at your book.

“When I was a freshman, you never would have let anyone see you joke around like you did today. And you hum now? And you asked me to be your TA, therefore admitting you like having me around? You’re soft. A very soft man, indeed.”

He scoffed lightly. “I didn’t ask you to be my TA, you took an off-handed comment and misconstrued it.” He narrowed his eyes from behind his glasses, leaning back into his seat. He stared blankly for a moment as he ran over the past few weeks in his mind. It was very true that he was much less uptight than he had been at the beginning of the year. Less uptight since you had torpedoed yourself into his office and nestled yourself there permanently. Gwilym sighed, lips set into a line. He finally said, “I’m relaxing a bit. Where’s the harm in it?”

You grinned, dropping your book into your backpack. “No harm. I like it,” you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

It was a weekend of thinking about you, on Gwilym’s part. Winter break had been telling for not only you, but him as well. He wasn’t used to not seeing you. This was made overtly clear as you ran through his mind, your small laugh and the look you’d give him when he was particularly harsh. He enjoyed your presence. While he’d known it before the semester ended, knew he enjoyed having you in his office, he had assumed it was because he liked the company. He delighted in not being alone, as silly as it sounded. 

But then you were gone. Weeks passed without you seeing him and he couldn’t spend a waking moment peacefully without you dancing to the forefront of his thoughts. He was sure you had gotten bored, or met someone your own age to spend time with and he wondered why he was so _worried_ about you. Why couldn’t he get you out of his mind?

He knew why. And he still had yet to admit it.

You, however, were shoulders deep in the trench of your emotions. You spend the few days away from Gwilym trying to push him out of your thoughts with little success.

The Monday after your last encounter and the day before you ‘TA’ in his class, Jack O’Hara is pressing sloppy kisses down your neck, leaving light and amateur love bites in his wake. You can’t fault Jack for your lack of interest; you can’t blame Jack for not being able to grow a beard and effectively pulling you from your fantasy. You can’t even blame Jack for ruining what could have been a peaceful night, because you had accepted his offer to go on a date.

You sighed softly and rest your hand on his side, something he took as an affirmative, only sucking more enthusiastically. “Jack,” You breathed, pushing him up softly.

Dark brown eyes scanned your face nervously as he sat up. “What? What did I do?”

You smiled, resting your hand on his cheek soothingly. He looked down at you anxiously and you sighed, sitting up to look him in the eyes. “Nothing, you’re fine. I think...I’m just not feeling well.” 

Jack frowned softly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want me to get out of your hair?”

Wasn’t this who you were supposed to be pining after? The sweet boy before you and not your professor? Someone your own age?

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. He looked at you with confusion on his face and you felt adoration burst from your very core. Adoration for the boy who looked so small before you; you wished, only for a moment, that it were the kind of adoration you needed to fall in love with him.

“Don’t be. I’ll text you in a few days and maybe we can go out again?” He stood, pressing a soft, somewhat slobbery kiss to your cheek. You chuckled softly.

The hope in his voice was enough to make you want to cry, so despite knowing you shouldn’t, you said, “Yeah, sure.”

Jack shared one last goodbye before he slipped out of your room and out of the apartment. You breathed out in relief at the solitary, wiping the remaining wetness off your cheek with your sleeve, ignoring the tightness of the skin of your throat. You felt sick, ready to turn over and sleep through the night when you heard a soft knock on your door.

You cleared your throat and called, “Come in!”

While you had expected Jack, who you assumed had forgotten something, you were shocked to see Lydia. You and your roommate were not close, to say the least. When you moved in, she was still dating her long-term boyfriend and spent most of her time with him. When they’d broken up (the week she’d gone home and you’d been exiled to Gwilym’s office) you had begun spending more time outside the apartment. You two usually quietly dusted around one another, but you invited her in as she looked at you curiously.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stood inside your doorframe. “Jack said you were sick.”

You laughed humorlessly, flopping onto your back. “I’m not sick,” you admitted, turning your head to look at her confusion. “I think I’m in love with someone. Someone that isn’t Jack.”

She’s surprised to see you opening up to her but she just approaches you slowly. “May I?” She asked, motioning to your bed. You curled your legs to allow her space to sit on your bed. “Can I give you some advice?”

“I’d love it if you did,” you answered immediately. 

She laughed, light and bright, and it’s a sound that made you smile as well. “Tell him. Or her, or them. They deserve to know. And so does Jack.” 

You groaned, throwing your head back into your pillow. “It isn’t that easy,” you breathed, sitting up to face her. “Can I tell you a secret that you can’t tell _anyone_?” 

Lydia looked at you with light dancing in her eyes, nodding softly as she waited expectantly. “Of course.”

You took a heavy breath, looking away from her. “He’s, um...he’s kind of a professor.”

"

Lydia squealed in excitement and you looked at her in shock. She composed herself quickly, a hand covering her mouth as she looked at you. “I’m so sorry," she whispered, seemingly just as shocked by her outburst as you were. You stared at her in silence for only a moment before a laugh bubbled from within you. It took her by surprise, her own laugh following yours as you held to her arm, eyes closed and stomach twisting painfully as you laughed loudly. “Is that where you are all the time?” She asked curiously, her laugh tinting her question.

You nodded. “At first I used to just sit in his office on Wednesdays, just to study, you know? And now I’m sitting in on one of his classes and he’s just...he’s great, you know?”

“Who is it?” Lydia asked quickly. “Not that you have to answer! If you don’t want to,” she mumbled smally.

You bit your lip, looking out the window to avoid her eyes. “It’s Professor Lee.”

“ _Professor Lee_?” She asked loudly. Her shock was palpable and you laughed softly, shrugging. “I mean, _the_ Professor Lee?”

“I know. I would have thought the same thing six months ago. I don’t know how to explain it.”

She looked at you in silent retroflection for a minute before she sighed. “I think we should become friends. I think we both need it.” 

You agreed.

Lydia wished you good luck before she left the next morning, a small smile on her face as she peeked into your bedroom. The two of you had ended up giggling in your bed into the early hours of the morning, falling asleep together. The alarm had been an unwelcome surprise, but Lydia hadn’t been. How you had gone six months without getting to know her was a mystery to you; she was bubbly in a way you lacked, bright and sunny and sweet. She left you a warm cup of coffee on the counter and lent you her setting powder when you’d run out (thanks to Jack, who had left many more marks than you’d realized) before heading to class.

You left not long after her, grateful to have worn a jacket with a hood. You covered your head as rain pelted your clothes, catching the bus to campus rather than walking as you usually would. You briefly wondered if it were even worth showing up when an email hit your inbox, a smile instantly pulling from your lips at the sight of it.

**_Gwilym Lee:_ ** _I’ll have you know everyone is quite upset that you aren’t here._

You pressed your lips into a line to hide your grin, re-reading the email again until you could contain yourself enough to reply.

**_Y/N Y/L/N:_ ** _Sounding desperate, Dr. Lee. I’ll be there in ten._

Gwilym only smiled at the email, rolling his eyes at your dig before beginning his lesson. You slipped in less than fifteen minutes later, quietly making your way to the chair beside his desk, the same place you sat every day. Your hood had proven to be rather useless, your hair dripping by the time you got to his class, smiling sheepishly as he turned his attention toward you.

“Glad you could make it, Y/N,” he smirked. You only smiled back, looking over the class as you dug into your bag to find your book. You followed along silently as Gwilym read, stopping only to ask questions and make sure the students were paying attention. You watched him over your book, watched his hands wave as he spoke to emphasize his point, glancing at you every few minutes. He didn’t point it out when he caught you watching. Not once. So you continued, unabashedly staring as he taught.

The class flew by faster than usual. You zone out for a few minutes and by the time you realized you weren’t paying attention, students were leaving the classroom and Gwilym was grabbing his bag. You sat up straight, blinking in surprise as you tossed your book into your bag. “Where are you going?” You asked, voice thick as he smiled over at you.

“I thought I would work in the office today. You are welcome to come and zone out there, too,” he teased. You laughed sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you stood up and slung your bag over your shoulder. He sent a look over his shoulder to ensure you were following him before he hummed out in satisfaction. “You were late today.”

You scoffed lightly, running a hand through your still-damp hair. “Yeah. Fell asleep for a little bit after my alarm. And then I had to take the bus instead of walking, which took like, ten extra minutes.” 

“Kind of defeats the purpose of the bus, no?” He asked, turning around with a playful smile as he unlocked his office.

“That’s exactly what I thought,” you exclaimed, hiking your bag up and smiling at him. He grinned, opening his door and breathing a sigh of relief as he welcomed himself into his office. You did too, exhaling sharply as you dropped your back onto your chair, sitting on the arm of your chair as he settled in his own seat. You fiddled on your phone and listened to the rustling of your professor’s papers. 

You thought back to where you were with your professor a few months ago, standing outside the door and hyping yourself up to ask a simple question and now you were here. Sitting in on a class of his, spending time in his office just to spend time with him. Admitting your love for him to your roommate.

You cleared your throat to clear your mind, pulling your wet hair up and out of your face, looking away from Gwilym and out the window. _Don’t clam up now, Y/N. Nothing is even happening._ “Y/N, dear.”

You turned your attention to him and he shifted in his seat. You were too distracted by the pet name to notice the pen pointed at your neck. “Hm?”

“Over-eager boyfriend?” He asked lowly. Your brows furrowed in confusion until the realization slapped into you. Your hand raised to cover your neck and you groaned, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that,” you swore, pulling the camera on your phone up to inspect the skin before you scowled. The marks were light and would likely fade by the end of the week but you hadn’t wanted them in the first place, and you especially wouldn’t have wanted Gwilym to see them. “An over-eager date, maybe.” 

His head tilted and you struggled to read his expression, explaining further.

“I didn’t even really want to go, but I was moping around the apartment and he asked and I was hungry, so what was the harm in going with a friend, you know? Except he didn’t think it was friendly and he kind of insisted on coming in after and I was _not_ that into it and then—”

“Y/N,” he cut off your tangent and you looked at him, surprised. He always let you ramble (it was, after all, one of the things you liked most about him) but now he was shaking his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Except I kind of do,” you rushed.

“Why?”

The air fell silent as you picked your next words. Gwilym’s brows furrowed and you watched him carefully.

“Why were you moping?” He asked a different question softly. One he assumed would be easier for you to answer. You breathed heavily and grunted, sliding off the arm of the chair into the seat, closing your eyes and resting your head against the arm behind you. “Y/N?”

“I’m in too deep,” you answered vaguely, opening one eye to see him watching you curiously, his glasses perched on his nose as he chewed on the end of his pen.

“In too deep? Y/N, if you need help—” 

You laughed humorlessly, nodding voraciously against the chair. “Oh, I need help, alright. Serious mental help.”

Your brain was screaming at you to stop but you were unraveling at a dangerous speed. What brought this on? Your lack of sleep? Your need to defend yourself against him? _Finally_ admitting your feelings out loud to Lydia? Maybe watching his walls break down? You couldn’t be sure but you suddenly felt sick, ready to get the weight of words unsaid off your chest and onto his, ready to unburden yourself.

“Y/N, what is _happening_?” He asked incredulously. You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder and looking to his bewildered face.

“I think I need to stop coming here,” you admitted, shock flooding both of you at your words.

“Why?” He asked breathlessly, standing to his full height. 

It usually would have made you crumple under his gaze but in your manic state, you only squared up to him, rolling your shoulders back and looking up into his eyes. “Because I have feelings for you and coming here is only making this harder for me and I wouldn’t want this friendship to become convoluted and weird and for you to—”

You were cut off as Gwilym’s hands grabbed you, one around the back of your neck and one holding your face in place. You melted into him, hands gripping his waist as you kissed him. Gwilym felt as though his head were spinning with your lips against his, your chapstick-smooth lips working fiercely against his. 

You could barely breathe, pulling your head back for a desperate drag of air as he kissed down your jaw, down your neck. His teeth sunk in just below your jawline, sucking harshly and nipping at the skin. You let out a tremulous breath, arms pulling him closer as he pulled back, admiring his handiwork. “Won’t be able to cover that one up.” He smirked victoriously, leaning back in to lick a thick stripe up your neck, working one another love bite.

“Professor Lee,” you moaned quietly.

The words make your own eyes shoot open and Gwilym flew away from you, breathing heavily as you looked at one another in shock. Gwilym’s fingers fidgeted and you breathed out, grabbing the bag that had dropped on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, throwing the strap over your shoulder and slipping past him.

“Y/N,” He sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly. You ignored him, slipping out of the door silently.

Gwilym stood in silence in his office for several minutes, still and quiet and pondering. He could still feel your hands wrapped around him, could still taste your chewing gum. The kiss, where he thought it would have mitigated his silly, juvenile crush, had only left him yearning further, closing his eyes and dropping in his armchair tiredly.

As soon as you were home you made a beeline to Lydia’s room, busting in without warning to find her studying. “I did a bad thing,” you huffed, dropping onto her bed as she looked at you in shock. 

“No, no, no. What did you do?” She abandoned her books at her desk and rolled her chair toward her bed. 

“I don’t even _know_! It’s like I was possessed. One minute he was asking about my hickeys and the next I was professing my love for him and the next his tongue was in my mouth.” Your tangent makes Lydia squeak, her hands covering her mouth.

“He _kissed_ you?” Lydia gaped, flopping beside you on her bed. “That’s big!”

“That’s bad!” You reminded her, nudging her side as your other hand raised to cover your eyes. “I mean, it was good. So good. But then I think he realized what was happening and he pulled away and I... panicked. And came here,” you sighed. She frowned, propping her head on her hand as she looked down at you.

“What are you going to do?” She asked carefully, brow furrowed as you uncover your eyes to look at her.

“I have no idea. I think we need a period to cool off. I need to stay away from him,” you breathed, looking to your roommate for advice.

“I think that’s wise,” she affirmed softly.

And you do. Well, you did. You successfully avoided him for weeks, several agonizing weeks in which you re-read his emails like they were a childhood bedtime story.

**_Gwilym Lee:_ ** _Y/N, I’m sorry for any and all boundaries I crossed. I shouldn’t have done that._

**_Gwilym Lee:_ ** _I only hope you can forgive me. I couldn’t be more sorry._

**_Gwilym Lee:_ ** _I still have your organic chemistry textbook. I’ll leave it in the office. Pick it up whenever you want._

You’re grateful for Lydia for distracting you on days you would usually spend with him. Tuesdays through Thursdays were reserved for watching movies and baking brownies and singing loud enough to annoy your neighbors. Lydia, in a twisted way, was your new Gwilym. She was your main source of socialization. You had almost (not really) forgotten the whole Gwilym situation when he sent the last email.

You didn’t _really_ need the book. You bought it for five bucks from the campus store, so you aren’t sure why you even bother going to pick it up. During his freshman english class; he was in lecture, you assured yourself. You wouldn’t see him.

But you do. The office was unlocked when you got there and he looked up at the door from his desk, surprise obvious as he gaped at you. “Y/N.” 

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “Hi,” you whispered, eyes shifting out the window to escape his intense stare. “I thought you were going to be in class,” you admitted.

“It was canceled this week. No classes for midterms,” he reminded. Subconsciously, you wonder if you remembered that. If a small part of you knew he was going to be here.

You looked back at him, smiling tightly. “Right. I just came to pick up my book.”

He gave you a knowing look, pushing his chair from under his desk and standing. He crossed the room to the bookshelf where your textbook waited for you. Long fingers plucked it from where it had been tucked, holding it tightly in large hands as he pushed it toward you. You grabbed the book but he still held it, his eyes stuck on yours. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. 

“Gwilym…” You let out a sigh, eyes closing as your fingers tightened around the book.

“I shouldn’t have mistaken your words. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“That isn’t what I was upset about,” you revealed, eyes opening. His brow furrowed in confusion. “You were the one who pulled away, not me,” you reminded.

“Not because I—” He cleared his throat, dropping his voice. “Not because I wanted to.” Your eyes bored into his, bright blue irises shining from the sunlight streaming through the window. “You know how precarious this situation is, Y/N. I didn’t pull away because I don’t _want_ you.”

You looked up at him, your grip on the book between you loosening as you searched his face for emotion. His eyes were soft and you felt one of his hands drop the book, reaching for your waist. Both your hands released the book, trying to pull him nearer. It was a breath of fresh air, to touch him after weeks of not even seeing him. He tossed the book toward his desk, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. There was a moment, thick with hesitation before he dipped down, pressing his lips to yours. You sighed in relief. Heavy hands held your waist with a vice-grip, the kiss progressing at an exponential speed, his tongue already slipping past your lips.

He pushed you back, hands still on your waist, and you stumbled until you caught the desk, pushing yourself up to sit. You wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping him close as he moaned softly. “What if someone walks in?” You gasped for air, searching his face for an answer.

“You know as well as I do that no one takes advantage of these hours,” he chuckled darkly, nipping at your exposed collarbone. You keened quietly, arching into him. “What do you want?”

“Want you,” you offered vaguely, tightening your legs around him to bring him closer. He smiled, a fingertip pushing hair out of your face and brushing across your cheekbone. The intimate moment makes your eyes close, your grip on his shirt tighten, makes you lean into him, capturing his lips in another kiss.

This was slower. Your breathing evened out as he kissed you tenderly, one hand cupping your cheek. A smile pulled at your lips, the kiss devolving as you laughed softly, Gwilym’s own smile tugging the corners of his lips up. He pressed his forehead to yours, a smile still painting his face as he looked at you.

You sat patiently as his hands slid up your thighs soothingly, blue eyes staring into yours brazenly. “I’m sorry,” he offered again, kissing down your neck and feather-lightly running a finger over the spot he’d left on you, no longer marring your skin. 

“Don’t be,” you uttered, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt.

You glanced at him for confirmation and he watched you intently as you began to unbutton his shirt. You were slow, movements calculated as you undid the pearlescent buttons. He watched you with a small smirk on his face, undoing the buttons of his cuffs as you reached the bottom. You pushed it from his shoulders, exposing his tanned torso.

Your eyes ran over a small, faded scar on his shoulder and your lips quirked. “What’s this?” You asked softly, looking up at his face as your fingers ran over it.

“Got that from a particularly rough beat-down I received as a teenager,” he chuckles, head tilting with adoration at your curiosity. You smiled smally at the sight of it as he pushed your hair out of your face. He tugged softly at the hem of your own shirt. Your arms lifted with no contest, allowing him to pull your shirt over your head.

He breathed out softly, hands running over the smooth skin of your torso. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he cursed. Your cheeks burned and you turned away from him. He smiled softly at your bashful disposition, kissing you again as he fumbled with your bra clasp. He pulled back again to pull your bra off, lip pulled between his teeth as his hands slid around from your back, cupping your breasts in his hands. You watched him tightly, his eyes glued to his own hands as he kneaded your chest. You whined, arching into his hands and he broke from his trance, eyes snapping up to your face. 

He leaned into you, tweaking your nipples with his thumbs as he nipped at your earlobe. “Let’s get your pants off, baby.” You jumped to your feet, fingers fumbling with your button. He chuckled softly, watching you hastily undress. “Look at you. So eager,” he hummed in delight. You kicked off your jeans, fingers toying with his belt. 

“Can I?” You inquired quietly. He nodded, watching your smaller fingers unbuckle his belt before you unbuttoned his dress pants. Eagerly, you pushed his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock, a satisfied smile on your face as you looked up to him, your lower lip tucked under your teeth. You wrapped your hand around him, watching as his face contorted in pleasure.

Gwilym, sensing the change of power, grunted lowly and snuck his fingers past the waistband of your panties. His finger ran through your folds and your hips bucked, the familiar heat licking up your insides as he spread your wetness. His finger circled your clit and you shuddered, eyes closing as you jerked him softly. “Yeah,” he 

You lifted your hips to meet his hand, desperate for the friction on your clit which he so frustratingly flirted around. “Please,” you breathed softly, hips jerking toward his fingers.

“Please what? What do you need?” He queried.

You bit your lip softly, hiding the smirk that grew on your lips. You drew him nearer, nose nudging his ear as you rest your chin on his shoulder, still stroking him softly. “I need you to fuck me. I need you inside of me. I need to make you feel good.”

“Sweet _Christ_ ,” he huffed. “Stop, stop, stop.” You released him obediently and lifted your hips when he tugged on your panties. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” His harshly pulled you toward him and you moaned, hands gripping the edge of the desk. With one last glance at you, he gripped himself and slid into you shallowly. “How long I’ve wanted to fuck this sweet cunt.” 

You groaned at his words and the feeling of him inside you. Your heels dug into his back.”Then do it,” you egged him on. “Fuck me. Give it to me.” You were practically begging, but Gwilym only growled, sinking fully into you. You gasped, “Oh, god, Gwilym.” 

The desperation you show only sent Gwilym into an animalistic spiral, hips pistoning against yours. His fingers find your clit, rubbing smooth, slow circles to contrast with his wild thrusts. Your hands gripped his shoulders, clinging to him as he fucked you quickly. “You feel fucking incredible.” He released a strangled grunt. 

You couldn’t even string together a proper sentence, jaw dropped as you whined out. “So good. So good—I want— _Gwil!_ ”

He tilted your hips back, leaning over you and thrusting deeper than before. “That feel good?” He hummed. You only whined into his skin, tilting your head to suck a mark into his collarbone. slowing his thrusts. He was slow and deep, your lips sucking harshly at his smooth skin, causing him to whine. It was a moment to relax and you leaned back, pressing a kiss to the mark with a sweet smile. “What’s that?” He panted softly, your softness bringing some of his own out.

“Marking you,” you answered simply, hips jerking as his fingers rubbed your clit more firmly.

“Yeah?” He asked breathlessly. 

Your eyes met his and he thrust shallowly into you. Your jaw dropped as he thrust roughly into yours, drawing his hips back until he had nearly pulled out of you, thrusting hardly back into you. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Need to come.”

He hummed breathlessly, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. “My girl wants to come? Hm?”

“Please, Gwil. I need it,” you whined, hips rolling against his.

“How do you need it, baby?” 

You panted, hooded eyes staring into his. “Faster,” you quaked. Gwilym complies with no contest, hips speeding up and slapping against yours. You felt your orgasm building and your hand covered his, pressing his fingers more firmly against your clit. “Oh, fuck, Gwilym. Just like that.”

“Just like that,” he replayed, feeling his own orgasm mounting. He pressed his lips to yours, your air mingling as you breathed heavily against one another. “C’mon, pretty girl. Need you to come for me.” Your hips stuttered. “That’s it. That’s it, baby. Let me see you come.”

Your jaw clenched, brow furrowing as your nails dug into his shoulders. You gasped as your orgasm crashed into you. Gwilym’s praises only pushed you further, your legs tightening around him as his own hips stuttered. Gwilym comes with a deep grunt of your name, teeth sinking into your neck in an attempt to keep himself quiet.

The two of you sat in silence, panting together as you held him close to you. His fingers ran through your hair, pressing sweet kisses to your lips when you keened for them (and a few just because). 

“You truly are beautiful,” he sighed, looking fondly down at your face. You grinned.

“You really have become a softy, Dr. Lee.”


End file.
